


lunacy is so ordinary

by Magali_Dragon



Series: all the world's a stage [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Actors, Alternate Universe - Hollywood, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Targlings (ASoIaF), all the world's a stage universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:34:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22963987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magali_Dragon/pseuds/Magali_Dragon
Summary: Jon decides that Dany needs a day off and they escape into the past and into the future a bit too.all the world's a stagecompanion piece, chronologically set afterand thereby hang's a tale.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Series: all the world's a stage [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1594456
Comments: 34
Kudos: 224





	lunacy is so ordinary

**Author's Note:**

> Should have been working on the two one-shots and the multi-chapter I have in draft, but I wrote this instead. I love writing in this universe. See if you can spot the shade. 
> 
> Enjoy :)

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/185802593@N06/49601638908/in/dateposted-public/)

* * *

There had been far more going on that month than Jon thought there would be—for a January. For once they were not going to Los Angeles to awards shows, as he had not been nominated for anything lately and Dany had not been acting in anything that was eligible. She had essentially taken another leave of absence, after her Golden Globe win the previous year. He was grateful, for once, that they were finally able to live like a normal family, nothing in the media gaining attention that prompted paparazzi to hunt them down.

He was never the target; it was always Dany. They just loved getting pictures of the Dragon Queen, especially after the reaction to her miniseries the previous year. He didn’t think most people knew who he was other than “Daenerys Targaryen’s husband.” And he was 100 percent alright with that. He wasn’t some thirsty B-list performer who was constantly trying to trade in on their spouse’s notoriety. Dany never had to constantly say “Jon, my husband” when in interviews to remind people, to boost his image and remind the world of his existence so he could try to trade in on her name.

And yet it was still insanely busy, he thought, staring at the crazy calendar his wife had sent him, color-coded and marked with different icons for the kids’ school, lessons, play groups, and whatever else he drove them around for. Sometimes he thought parenthood was being a glorified chauffeur, honestly.

There was also something to Viserys’s constant referring to the children as _parasites_ , although he would never admit it out loud. They did kind of suck him dry of energy, money, time, and his sanity. He flicked through the calendar for Lyella, stunned at the amount of ballet she apparently was in for that month. “Gods,” he muttered. He shook his head. “Acting classes!?” That was a new one. He groaned, closing his eyes. “That’s right.” Wasn’t a new one. He forgot that his daughter had decided she was going to be the youngest Academy Award winner ever.

She only had two more years before she would be ineligible for that distinction, but Jon was fairly certain his daughter might be able to do it. He _hated_ that she wanted to be an actress, but she had the bug. For now. He hoped she’d grow out of it. “What the…” he mumbled, pulling up the calendar for the twins. He hit his head against his desk. They had a damn birthday party every single Saturday for the next five weeks. “How do they even know that many kids?” They were _three._

“Jon?”

He waved his hand, calling out. “In here.” The door to his office pushed open and Dany leaned against the frame, her phone in her hand. He swiveled in his chair, slumping backwards, head on the back rung, frowning. “You were texting me from inside the house?”

“I didn’t want to shout.”

“Well that’s nice.” The new baby, Alysanne, was probably the most particular child he had ever met, and he was the father of Lyella Snow, who gave new meaning to the term _diva._ Any sound was too much for Baby Aly and she would start to scream bloody murder. Took hours to calm her down. He set the phone down on the desk and got up, trudging over to meet Dany in the center of the study, smiling against her lips when she rose on her toes, her hands sliding around his waist and into the back pockets of his jeans. “Hi.”

She grinned, kissing him and muttering at same time. “Hello to you.”

“Why do our kids have so many things to do?”

“Because they’re our kids,” she laughed, swaying slightly in place with him. He noticed that her hair, now shoulder-length was tugged back in a messy ponytail and she wore a t-shirt that had baby formula on it with ripped jeans and her bare feet. _Gods_ , he thought. _She’s the most beautiful woman in this entire world._ She lifted her brows. “You’re staring, Jon.”

“Can’t help it,” he said.

“Creep.”

“Your creep.” He kissed her again, hard and swift. She moaned, head tilting back, pulling him with her before her hands slipped from his back pockets, lifting to grip the front of his shirt. He smiled, breaking the kiss a moment later. She looked tired, he thought, touching at the dull shadow underneath her eyes. “You need a break,” he murmured. She was a one-woman machine, somehow maintaining her successful career, her philanthropic work, and other business ventures, and still raise four kids.

One of whom was the biggest drama queen, two who were on their way to becoming the preschool’s resident dictators, and the third who had ears so sensitive Jon suspected she might have been part wolf. It drove him to writing most days, sometimes even to meetings when he feared he was getting so stressed he’d cave and have a drink. Yet it seemed Dany managed to do it all.

He ran his fingers through some stray strands of silver hair, tucking them behind her ears. “What’s on tap for tomorrow?” he whispered. He could check the calendar, but she had it basically memorized.

“Umm….” She pretended to think, screwing up her face. She wiggled her eyebrows, nipping at his lower lip. “You.”

He growled, snapping his teeth at her, causing another giggle. He loved when she got like this; she had been so stressed lately and she did so well at hiding it. The trouble with being married to an Oscar-winning actress, he thought, nuzzling the soft skin along the column of her neck. He inhaled, savoring the lemons and lavender that made up her being. _Gods, I love this woman so much._ He felt her tense a bit when his fingers skimmed under the hem of her t-shirt to the skin along her sides. He pulled back slightly, seeing her violet eyes avert quickly, a tiny pink arising on her cheeks.

His brow furrowed, wondering what that was about. It was as if she were embarrassed, but she had nothing to be embarrassed about. He traced his finger along her hairline, smiling slightly. “Don’t you have that photoshoot thing soon?” He wondered if perhaps that’s why she felt self-conscious.

She tensed again. “Yes.” She sighed, lifting her face back up to meet his. “For the charity’s new project.” There was one of her charities of course, Rhaegar’s Song, and then there were the other two she supported as a significant contributor and patron. She had become quite the businesswoman, turning Rhaegar’s Song into a major player when it came to advocating for orphaned and fostered children, finding them hobbies like music and sport and drama, and ensuring every child had a loving caregiver. They traveled all over, where she gave presentations and went to conferences and spoke of being raised by her brother, spoke about his loss of parents and having his non-nuclear family, and the need for an outlet.

She was so passionate about her work, he thought, kissing her softly. Then there was her new one, the one she had recently established, _Rhaego’s Hope_ , in honor of her lost child. She had a photoshoot for the official launch of the charity, the promotional materials and the website.

“When is it again?”

“Tomorrow.” He lifted his eyebrows, briefly surprised. “It isn’t on the calendar,” she chuckled. She shrugged, playing with the torn neckline of his t-shirt, her cheeks coloring again. “Just a photoshoot. I’ve done so many of them I can’t even count.”

He remembered a particular one, she’d done a couple years ago, for GQ, which named her one of their sexiest women of the year or some nonsense. She’d had to get sufficiently drunk during the shoot to pose the way she had, practically naked and wearing skimpy lingerie. Although he’d been there too, glowering at her from the corner, which she said only served to turn her on. Needless to say they’d taken the magazine up on the offer of the limo back to their hotel.

She reached to tug on the bun he’d tugged his hair into earlier, unknotting it and pulling the elastic band around her wrist, smirking. “What are you thinking about now?”

“Many things.” Thinking about the photoshoot where she’d been practically naked, still the most beautiful woman in the world to him. Or the constant movement their lives had taken on with four children. All the work she’d been doing on her charities. The exhaustion she had when she collapsed into bed each evening. She was so hardworking, she deserved a day to herself. He stroked his finger over her hair again, murmuring. “When is the photoshoot?”

“I told you…”

“Aye, tomorrow, what time?”

She cocked her head, frowning. “I believe Missy is sending the car around nine, why?”

He nodded, his mind beginning to plot and plan. He shrugged, fending off any curiosity, lightly pressing a kiss to her temple, swaying gently with her in his arms. “No reason.” He lifted her closer to him, both of them savoring the moment with each other. They’d been together almost a decade, he supposed. If you included that terrible year they’d been apart. It seemed they had very little time in all that to simply enjoy each other, without the trappings of what fame brought them or handling the children.

Gods, he loved his children more than he loved air, and even in moments where he still struggled with the demons in his head and heart, he could only be grateful that he remained healthy for them. He let go of her reluctantly, when the sound of Aly’s whines began to call through the monitor he kept on his desk. “I’ll take her,” he whispered, assuring her, and letting go of her with a light kiss to her lips.

She nodded and he realized that the bags under her eyes seemed heavier. She stifled a yawn, following him out of his office. They were in the London house, in their wing, and she moved to go downstairs, while he went the opposite direction to Aly’s bedroom, which had once been a guest room. The twins still shared, although he was not sure for how much longer they could survive that. He smiled at his youngest, who was glaring up at him, her hands lifting. She was nearing a year now, gods.

He picked her up, brushing her silver curls back. Of all his kids, Aly resembled her mother the most. “You hungry?” he asked, frowning. “Or are you just cranky?” Aly beat her hands on his chest, sobbing, her face red and violet eyes scrunched tight. He rolled his eyes. “Cranky I guess.” He swayed with her, calming down her remaining cries, and rubbing her back, thinking of his plan.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, dialing Missy. It rang once. “Hi Jon, is everything alright?” her soft voice asked.

“Fine, listen, I have an idea for tomorrow. Can you help?”

“Of course, what did you need?”

He smiled. “Well, for the photoshoot…”

Aly cocked her head, listening intently as he began to outline his plan.

~/~/~/~

“Jon, why are we out so early? I don’t understand, Missy was supposed to send a car to take me to the photoshoot.” He didn’t understand why Dany seemed so annoyed by the change in schedule; it wasn’t like she was going to sleep in anyway. Aly woke them both up at three in the morning, with no intention of going back to sleep. Well, Aly woke _Dany_ up and then _Dany_ woke _him_ up. Her argument was that he got the fun part of creating a baby, so he had to suffer while she had her nipples sucked on by an angry parasite.

_Seems Viserys is rubbing off on the both of us. Horrifying thought._

He said nothing, turning down one of the streets in Notting Hill, their Range Rover slightly too big for the narrow cobblestone streets. He hummed to himself, finding a parking space and wedging the car in between two Mini Coopers. He honestly didn’t even care if they hit him; they were so tiny they’d barely make a dent on the SUV. He nodded towards the door, smiling at her. “Come on.”

“Where are we _going_?” She climbed from the car, slamming the door and wrapped her jacket around her tighter, eyes wary as they hopped up onto the sidewalk. It was early enough; she didn’t have to be at the studio for the shoot until around eleven. Missy always sent the car earlier so they could stop somewhere along the way to pick up things for the photography crew, pastries or drinks or such. He learned as much from her best friend/publicist/everything else. He knew she was a little worried of people recognizing them; hopefully they would be able to enjoy this day as just them.

_She needed it._

They walked around a corner, his arm around her waist. She melted to him, her arm reaching back to wrap around his wrist, so they were tangled together slightly. He led her to a coffee shop, letting go long enough to open the door for her. “Recognize it?” he asked, whispering into her ear.

She paused for a moment and then smiled, recognition dawning in her bright eyes. A soft, throaty giggle escape. “If I recall, this was where I finally cornered you about the script.” She arched an eyebrow, smirking up at him and reached to pinch at his nose. “And you were a horrible dick, as always.”

“I really was,” he admitted. He remembered how she had pretended to be American, to ward off the people who wanted photos of her. He’d been a right arsehole, judging her before he even had a chance to meet her. _So stupid._ Arya would have said it was _so Northern_ of him. Maybe it was. He led her to the same table and booth where they’d had their first real creative conversation about the film, pulling her chair out for her.

“You got me up early to bring me here?” she asked.

A waitress walked over, eyeing them, slightly curious, but she said nothing. “What can I get you?” she offered.

“Horchata latte,” Dany chirped. She propped her head on her hand, legs crossed, smirking again. “I think that’s what I got last time, right?”

He smiled, lifting his eyes up to the waitress. “Black coffee.”

“The largest cup you have, might as well bring him a bucket.”

The waitress smiled, wagging her finger between hem. “You guys are cute.” She cocked her head, this time focusing on him, the finger coming up again. “You look really familiar, are you on television?”

“No,” he answered honestly, trying not to smile at Dany’s giggle, which she was hiding terribly. He cocked his head. “But I get that a lot.”

“Your name isn’t…Kit? From that TV show? The one that ended really bad, right?”

He had no idea of what she spoke. So he just shook his head. “Nope.”

“He does look like Harry Potter, does he not? Perhaps that’s it,” Dany drawled.

The waitress did not seem convinced. “Maybe.”

They both stifled giggles. They waited until the waitress had departed, before his lovely wife smirked at him. “By the way, you look nothing like Harry Potter.”

“I could be Harry Potter.”

“Hmm, doubtful Jon Snow.”

He simply smiled; he really had no idea why she thought he couldn’t be the boy wizard. He had dressed up as a wizard the previous year for their yearly Halloween party. Well, Viserys’s yearly Halloween party, which was rather terrifying for the children. He said nothing, while she looked around the café, somewhat nostalgic, shaking her head and smiling. He just took a moment to watch her, how pretty she was. Motherhood and her happiness in her career, everything that they had worked so hard for, it agreed veryw ell with her. She had been the most beautiful woman he thought he had ever seen, when he laid eyes on her for the first time in person.

Magazines and movies were touched up, they weren’t real. Seeing her storm into that café and stare at him with those bright purple eyes—not contacts—was startling. She was gorgeous. It was all true. If anything, the camera dulled her beauty. She was downright _radiant._

Their coffees set in front of them, he waited for her to mess with hers, swiping off some of the foam with her finger and sucking on it; he tried not to let that affect him although it was difficult.

"So you took me to the place where we first had an honest conversation, now what?"

He sipped his coffee; he'd already had a cup that morning. She joked that if someone were to draw blood from him at any given moment they'd have to shift through the coffee to find it. Used to be tobacco, but he hadn't smoked in a long time. The occasional cigarette when he was incredibly stressed and never in the house. He idly reached into his pocket and thumbed the chip that was attached to his car keys. _Eight years_. Sometimes he couldn't believe he'd made it that long without a sip of alcohol.

He shrugged, trying to play secretive. "What makes you think there's something else?"

She rolled her eyes. “You got me up this early, took me here. You’re not one for plans and games Jon Snow. That’s what I like about you. Very direct, to the point, damn whatever anyone else thinks.” She cocked her head, chuckling. “Gets you into trouble, but I love you for it.”

“Winter is coming, my uncle always said.”

“Yes, it comes every year.” She rolled his eyes when he opened his mouth to say that it wasn’t _literal_. More like you always needed to be preparing and planning. “I know, I know, it doesn’t mean that.” She propped her head on her hand again, those wide eyes sparkling, mischievous. “So, what else are we going to do?”

He folded his arms on the table, leaning forward, nudging her nose. He slipped a hand free and took hers, lifting them up, fiddling with her fingers. They looked like any other couple, sneaking away in the early morning, maybe even after having spent the night together. She even had her glasses on, her silver hair tugged in a loose ponytail, stray tendrils framing her pale face. “What do you want to do?” he murmured, rubbing underneath her thumb with his. It was his turn for his eyes to twinkle. “This is your day, Dany.”

That surprised her. “My day?”

“Aye. I am all yours.”

She pursed her lips, smiling a little, but he was glad to see she had been caught off guard. “Well…um…” Suddenly her pale cheeks went pink. “It has been ages since I have seen a play.”

 _Gods I know you so well._ He reached into the inner pocket of his coat, removing two tickets, swishing them up at her like he was a card dealer, grinning. She squealed, stomping her feet and grabbing for the tickets, laughing and staring at them. “You wanted to see it, right?” he confirmed, nodding to the play.

“Oh Jon! How did you know?” She wiggled in her seat, reminding him briefly of the twins when they got excited about something. “I wanted to see this production of _Cyrano_ for ages!”

 _Score one for me._ “Well now you will.”

She leaned over the table, rising slightly to peck a kiss to his mouth. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

“So what’s next?” She sipped her latte, arching a brow. “I am at your service.”

“Now you get to feel prettier than you ever have before.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “Oh?”

He shrugged, picking up his coffee mug again, sheepish. “Well, fine, the next bit might just be for me.”

“Color me intrigued.”

~/~/~/~

_Gods above, she was the most beautiful woman in the entire fucking universe._

He was continually starstruck that she had chosen _him._ All fucked up him, with all the baggage, all the issues, and she had decided that _he_ was the one she was going to spend the rest of her life with. He could only get on his knees and pray to ever single god that he believed existed in thanks. It hadn’t been easy, there was even a movie about it after all, but seven hells, she was his and he was hers.

The camera flashed, the photographer bouncing around like a little jumping bean, while Missy fussed with things in her ever-present portfolio with a member of the staff and someone he knew was from the charity. Ellaria, her constant stylist, was puttering with dresses and directing Irri and Jhiqui, hair and makeup respectively, around the long expansive vanity filled with all kinds of strange and ominous products.

He didn’t think she needed any though. All they’d done was highlight the natural gleam in her eyes, tinted her lips to make them even fuller than they already were, and done some other things that just made her _glow._ Her hair, not the almost waist-length it had been for so long, courtesy of that little stunt they’d both pulled on each other _years_ ago, was shoulder length, swept from her face as she beamed and smiled, cocking her head this way and that, almost blinding against the current white background they were using.

She posed sexily, cheekily, and winked at him in a rather coquettish manner at one point, clearly enjoying herself. The sexy photoshoots she did in lingerie, with dark makeup and come-hither bedroom eyes were always welcome in his opinion, but that wasn’t _her_. She was just playing a part there. Playing Daenerys Targareyn, sex symbol. It always came off to him like she was trying too hard to shed the Princess Periwinkle persona. Which she had, of course, with _The Long Night._

This was Dany though. Even when she pursed her lips and arched her eyebrow, knowing something the viewer did not know, the camera capturing it effortlessly. Jon just stared, like a lovestruck fool, because he really was.

Missy came over, taking a seat next to him. “She’s a natural.”

“Aye.”

“I’m glad you called; they had an entirely different idea in mind for her. Stuff that was a bit more somber, given the fact that it is for a charity about prenatal health and coping with grief and neonatal care,” Missy said. She smiled, the camera snapping a series of more serious shots, her head tilted and eyes gazing up at something, a very faint smile twisting at the corner of her pink lips. She pointed. “That’s a good one.”

He smiled, nodding. “She needs this.”

Her best friend nodded in agreement. “She’s been nonstop, she definitely deserves a day.” She glanced at her phone, tapping away. “I’ll send you some of the pics once I get them from the photographer. When they’re done.”

“Sounds good.” He leaned back in his chair, propping his feet up, grinning at Dany who crooked her finger at him, beckoning him forward. He shook his head, laughing, and gave her a _fuck no_ look. She merely bounced over and not saying a word, grabbed his hand, yanking him towards the set, beyond the screens and lights, her arms draping over his neck and smiling up at him. He rolled his eyes, before blinking quickly as the camera flashed. He shook his head, leaning in and growling. “You know I hate the cameras.”

She pursed her lips again, exaggerating a baby face. “Oh boo hoo, poor Jon Snow.”

He nuzzled against her, cheeks warming as the camera went off again. He would have to tell Missy the photographer had to delete the photos immediately. He flicked a strand of hair from her forehead. “You having fun?”

The shine returned to her eyes, the corners crinkling with her grin. She nodded quickly. “Yes. I am, I really am.” She let go of him, pushing him back and spinning in a circle, calling out. “It’s so weird to be dressed in clothes that are clean and don’t have baby vomit on them.”

“That’s lovely.”

“You’re the one with the pretty words, not me.”

He snorted; _pretty words_. Most of the time he had no idea where the words came from, he just had to get them down. He reached over and took her arm, lifting it above her head; she rose on her toes and twisted. He spun her in a circle, untangling himself and gazing down at her, smiling in spite of himself as their arms were crossed, fingers entwined, in a rather complicated looking dance move. She giggled, letting go and picked up the sides of the skirt she wore, twirling them around as the photographer snapped away.

He stepped off the stage area, immediately fearing the cameras. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, glancing at the phone. He skimmed through a series of disturbing text messages from Viserys, each one increasingly graphic over what would happen to his ‘babymaker’ as Vis called it, should he ever leave the children alone with their uncle again. He only briefly remained on one, thinking about whether it was even physically possible, but shrugged, scanning the most recent.

_WHY THE FUCK DOES THIS TINY CHILD HAVE LUNGS THIS LARGE!?!?! MAKE HER STOP!!!_

He simply texted back: _She must not like her Uncle Vis._

That only got him back a photo of what he imagined was the contents of Aly’s diaper that Vis was the in process of changing. He laughed, shoving his phone away. Uncle Vis would be fine. _Maybe_. He picked up the notebook from his bag, propping it back on his knee and began to write, describing the scene in front of him, focusing on the icy quality that Dany exhibited in her all white outfit with her silver hair. He was thinking of topics for a new movie. And as usual, his muse was at the forefront of his mind while he went through story concepts.

They changed her into another outfit, something a bit more subdued, her hair almost a little darker, courtesy of some sort of rinse they brushed through. He put away his things, watching her as she transformed into a more serious character, eyes downcast or gazing into the distance, a smile blank from her lips, her arms crossed or leaning back slightly against a wall.

Missy came back over. “What are you doing next?”

He removed his phone again, showing her the next thing he had planned. If Dany was up to it, of course. Missy chuckled, pushing his phone back to him. “You are something Jon Snow.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“Honestly?” Missy mused, narrow eyed. “I haven’t figured it out yet.”

“Let me know when you do.” He sighed. “Because I haven’t either.”

~/~/~/~

Perhaps this was not the best idea, he thought, standing at the end of the street in Covent Garden, looking at the hordes of people, the pressure of the crowds, the bustling of the shopkeepers…he could probably expend every word in the English language that also meant _Jon Snow’s Nightmare_ for what was happening around him.

He glanced sideways at Dany, trying to figure out her approach to the street festival he’d located that morning when he was looking up things to do after her photoshoot and before the show. They had already had a light lunch, wandered around the streets a bit, even did some cheesy tourist shots in Westminster, forcing perspective with Dany putting her finger on the top of Big Ben or standing far enough out to hold it on her hand. She suggested they visit Tower of London later, because she loved seeing where people lost their heads.

So morbid, his Dany. Then again, this was also the woman who insisted that each time they returned to Westeros for anything, they had to go to King’s Landing so she could look at the dragon skulls and imagine she was flying a dragon. She also did have an occasionally terrifying appreciation for fire.

“We can do something else,” he blurted out, still holding her hand as she stood silent next to him.

He glanced down to see if she was in agreement, but to his surprise, she was beaming. “This is so _fun_!” She let go of his hand, hurrying over to one of the stalls, immediately admiring scarves and hats. She giggled, looking over her shoulder and encouraging him to come over to her. “Jon! Don’t stand there! This was your idea, was it not?”

“Um, yeah.”

“Then stop looking like you’re about to do what Rhae does when he eats too many cookies and then washes it down with soda.” He cringed, having a bad flashback to that nightmare evening. He blamed Vis for it.

Jon moved towards her, looking around and smiling slightly. It was a festival celebrating Westeros, of all things, with booths and stalls and the like celebrating the cultures, the food, and the wares from each of Westeros’s seven provinces. He was curious to see what the ones for The North would entail. Or rather, a bit terrified. He smiled when she reached her arm around his back, reaching around his hip to grab at his wrist, snaking through. She kissed his cheek, saying nothing, but meandered slowly through everything.

They stopped every so often so she could put on silly outfits and sample food. She told someone from the Reach that their flowers were always the ones that smelled the nicest, and argued with one of the Dornish chefs in the food stalls that his paella wasn’t spicy enough, that the Martells would never let that stand. He dragged her away from the Stormlands booth when she suggested purchasing a series of handcrafted knives for Lyella.

It was the Northern booths that she really had fun.

“Jon!” she squealed. She grabbed in her bag, removing her glasses—black thick frames she sometimes wore to avoid recognition—shoving them on and rushing to the cases that were beside the stall itself. “Look!”

“Oh gods.”

To his absolute disgust, one of the booksellers had an entire setup just for his plays, scripts, and books. “The North’s Own Jon Snow!” she read from the display’s sign, giggling and taking down _Dark Wings, Dark Words_ , flicking through as if she hadn’t already ready it one-hundred times. She set it back and took a thick illustrated special edition “making of” book. “Ooh, this is pretty.”

His curiosity got the better of him and he peered over her shoulder. It was an official companion book to _The Long Night_ film, with photos and stories from behind the scenes, including images of the script with his handwritten notes, costume designs, and the music. He had no idea anyone was even taking pictures of the making of the film, looking at it in awe as Dany flicked through glossy pages showing her in makeup and costume, laughing in Iceland and jumping in her thick coats to keep warm. He turned a page, frowning slightly at the picture that stared up at him.

He looked at the caption. _Screenwriter Jon Snow goes over notes with Daenerys Targaryen (The Night Queen) during filming of a pivotal battle scene._ It was innocuous, but he recognized it as the day when they were fighting, when she had thrown her _diva_ behavior in an effort to distract people from the fact that they were fucking like rabbits behind the scenes. He turned another page. He was sitting in a chair beside Margaery, Dany leaning over his shoulder, her arm almost around his neck, looking at a laptop screen. _Daenerys Targaryen, Jon Snow, and Margaery Tyrell review filming on set_.

She turned a page, and then immediately closed it. He shivered; he knew why. The picture was of him drinking from his travel coffee mug, on set in Iceland. They both knew there wasn’t coffee in it. She rubbed at his back lightly, placing the book back onto the shelf. “That was a long time ago,” she murmured.

“Hmm.” He picked up one of the little books, chuckling, staring at the simple gold embossed title on the black leather. “Guess this is finally selling again.”

“You did make it big.” Dany took _The Night’s Watch_ and plucked a copy of _Winter is Coming_ , along with a couple of children’s books about the Night King stories from the North for the kids. She rose on her toes, picking up another book, chuckling. “ _This History of the Stone Wolves: The Stark Family Through the Generations_. What the seven hells is this?”

“A piss poor attempt of Lady Stoneheart to make money to pay for upkeep on the castle’s renovations. Didn’t get very far.” The cold fish had even gone to him, asking for money to keep them afloat and to buy out some of the loans they had taken to keep the castle in the Stark name. He hadn’t given her a dime; he wasn’t a bank for them just because he happened to be the richest of the Starks.

Dany tossed it back onto the shelf. She went to pay for her books, leaving him to pick up the book she’d set back. He hadn’t been to Winterfell in quite some time. The Westeros one, at least. He technically _owned_ the one up in Scotland. He flicked through some of the pictures. It had been a beautiful place, once upon a time. He wondered if the castle had just started to reflect the discord of the Starks, the nastiness of the hearts of Sansa and Catelyn, the deaths of Robb and Rickon and Ned, and the apathy of Bran and Arya.

He set it back and turned around when a flash of silver appeared at his side. “You done?” he asked.

Dany was smiling in a way he didn’t really like. “Sort of.”

“Oh?”

“I found a display for Beyond the Wall.”

His heart jumped a bit; he’d like to see that. He loved the Free Folk. “Yeah? Where is it?”

“Here.” She took his hand, leading him around and over to a series of stalls. He stared at two cardboard cutouts, face falling, immediately knowing what she had planned. She pursed her lips at him. “It’s my day, right?”

He sighed, but couldn’t help the twist of smile. “Yes. It is.”

“And this is _my_ demand!”

Because he was so hopelessly in love with the crazy dragon, he let her tug him to the Viking cutouts, dropping her bags and passing her phone over to someone to take their photo, sticking their heads in the holes for the faces, while she wrinkled her nose and lips, sneering slightly and he just pretended to go along with her. She dropped off the little step behind the cutouts, taking her phone back from the old woman she’d asked to take the pictures. “Thank you,” he said, nodding to her.

“Yes thank you,” Dany giggled, reaching for her scarf and wrapping it back around her neck.

The woman frowned at them, lifting her finger up. “Aren’t you Daner…” She was about to say something, likely Dany’s name, but then closed her mouth, smiling briefly. She nodded. “You’re welcome. Have a good rest of your day.”

He silently thanked the woman, nodding and Dany’s shoulders sagged in relief, shaking her hands. She quietly reached for the woman’s hand, taking her phone and arching her brows. In a very smooth, subtle manner, she held her arm up to do a selfie, smiling and the woman beamed. She handed her back her phone, patting her hand. “Thank you,” she said, grinning. “Appreciate it.”

They slid back into the crowd, walking along, sunglasses now on and in his case, a black baseball cap tugged on over his curls. Dany’s silver hair was tugged underneath a beanie and she was bundled up warmly in her favored corduroy Miu Miu coat. She pulled him into a cozy little tea shop, making him hold up a teacup with his pinkie out and dabbed clotted cream on his nose so she could kiss it off.

Gods, he had no idea how long they just wandered around a city they’d lived in but had never really taken the time to enjoy. They even took the Tube over to Tower of London so she could pretend to have her head chopped off and so they could watch the Tower Bridge to see if it went up.

“Eek!”

He had been scribbling his notebook when he heard her screech. “What? You alright?”

“The draw bridge!”

He looked up and to his surprise, the bridge was going up. He glanced at Dany, mouth open, when suddenly she was kissing him, her arms around his neck. He smiled, returning the kiss, pulling her close to him. He felt warm all over, breaking only when he had to take in a gasp of air. “What was that for?” he chuckled, nuzzling her nose.

“For good luck,” she murmured, before kissing him again.

Something told Jon that they really didn’t need any more luck, because they made their luck, had always had, but he kissed her anyway, hugging her against his side when she separated, her head tucking under his chin and eyes closing in contentment.

~/~/~/~

“Gods that was gorgeous.”

Jon yawned, unable to stop it as they exited the theater. He dodged a Playbill, rolled up slightly and clutched in Dany’s hand, which almost smacked him clear in the face, her enthusiasm over _Cyrano_ almost too much for her to take. He smiled down at her. “Take it you liked it?”

“Yes, it was magnificent, I plan on letting the company know, I will write them a note when we get home,” she said, checking her phone. He saw her lips twitch slightly and a flicker of—something—cross her face. She shoved her phone into her bag, slinging it back over her shoulder. She put on another smile. “What’s next?”

“Next?”

“Well yeah, are you going to take me to a hotel and ravish me?” she said, blinking her lashes rapidly, putting on a sultry pout and lifting her shoulder. “Should I have stopped and purchased some new knickers at some point today?” She fluttered her lashes again, voice dropping, purring. “Or perhaps have put some on?”

He swallowed the dryness that suddenly hit his throat. He pushed the idea of her walking around all day without wearing knickers aside—difficult as that was—to focus on what the next part of their plan happened to be. He led her to the door, walking out with others, and suddenly gasped at a flash of light, blinding them both, a terrified exclaim from Dany.

_“Daenerys! Daenerys Targaryen! Where have you been hiding this whole time?”_

_“Got anything new?”_

_“What’s the rumors of a divorce we hear?”_

_“This date night trying to bring the magic back?”_

“Fuck,” he cursed, immediately lifting his arm to shield Dany, who yelped again, as someone pushed at her side, everyone suddenly trying to get photos, not realizing that they had been in the same theater or even sitting right beside a famous actress the entire evening. He thought they could get through the night without one person recognizing her—no one ever figured who he was until they recognized her first—and even if they did, leaving her alone. Guess it didn’t matter, she was still a well-known commodity in the entertainment world.

He knew that someone had to have called the paparazzi; they never just _showed up_ to take photos of celebrities doing everyday things. If they got close enough to see what the fuck was in your shopping basket, they were called. He was grateful for theater security, which had their car pulled up quickly at valet and he helped Dany get into the front seat before he rushed over to the driver’s side, heavily tipping the valet.

They drove off, speeding away and leaving the flashbulbs behind. He reached his hand to squeeze hers tight. She squeezed back, her phone to her ear. She sniffed. “Hey Missy, it’s Dany….gods, how do you already know these things? Yeah…yeah…okay thanks.” She sniffed again and hung up, rolling her eyes. “They didn’t know we’d be there, believe it or not. Some stupid B list actress from one of those old BBC shows was going to be there with her husband, wanted people to get them on date night Missy said, since everyone thinks he hates her.” She sighed. “It was a two-for-one, I guess. Bad luck.”

He kissed her knuckles. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek, whispering. “Love you. This was beautiful Jon, all of it. Whatever you have planned next, I swear I will love.”

He almost forgot about that. He nodded, patting her knee. “Well, you were right. We are going to a hotel.”

“Hmm, cannot wait,” she husked, reaching her hand across to squeeze his thigh. He jumped slightly, swatting. She giggled. “Sorry. I can never resist with you.”

“Well resist, I’m driving. Precious goods and all.”

“Okay fine.”

Except he couldn’t resist either, and almost crashed them as he dipped his fingers over to tease her along the seam of her leggings.

“Jon?”

“Hmm?”

“Eyes on the road.”

He turned the wheel, the SUV disappearing into an alley. “Change of plans.”

Dany giggled. “Finally!”

~/~/~/~

Gods, he thought, as they finally righted themselves, after pulling over into a dark alley to disappear into the backseat of the Range Rover. He focused on the road again, while Dany fixed her shirt in the backseat. “Eyes on the road,” she warned again, when he stole a peek in the rearview.

“Yes my queen.”

“Lucky we didn’t get pulled over. Could you imagine those headlines?”

“Guess that makes it more dangerous.”

She laughed, climbing over and into the front seat again. “Guess so. Now, what hotel are you taking me to?”

“Your _favorite_.”

“I didn’t know I had one.”

They pulled up in front of what he knew was one of her favorite hotels in London, The Berkeley. She’d done a few awards shows nearby, and needed to spend the night there, to prepare, and had thus loved the place. He pulled the car up, hopping out and passing keys to the valet. There was also decent security, which was quite nice, and he knew she appreciated it as much as he did. Their bags would be brought up to the room, but in the meantime, he had plans.

He led her up to the room, walking down the hallway and then stopped in front of their room. “Okay, last thing,” he said, reaching into his pocket. He removed a thin black scarf, dangling it in front of her. He grinned at her surprised and then quite wary look. “You trust me?”

She nibbled her lower lip, chuckling. “Of course.”

He draped it over her eyes, tying it loosely. With one hand on her shoulder, he leaned over her, crowding her slightly to the door. He felt the hitch of her breath and swiped the keycard, pushing open the door. “Careful,” he murmured, walking her into the suite, hands on her shoulders. It was dark, which was the plan, and he led her down the hall towards the main sitting room. “Okay…you ready?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Alright.”

He tugged off the scarf at the same time the lights came on, accompanied by a screaming chorus of _”SURPRISE!”_

Dany’s eyes sprang open and her jaw dropped, hands snapping to her cheeks in shock, laughing, a joyous melody to accompany the screams and the bubbling laughs of the children, who piled out of their hiding spaces, from behind the couch or the closet or under the desk. Or in the case of Aly, from Viserys’s arms, reaching instantly for her mother. “Oh my gods!” she cried, an arm taking Aly and the other enveloping the twins and Lyella to her. “What are you all doing here?!”

“Got me, I’m out of here,” Viserys said. He glared, jabbing a finger hard into Jon’s shoulder. “You owe me so fucking much.”

Jon rolled his eyes. “Put it on my tab.”

The door slammed, no one paying Viserys any attention, too busy clamoring about telling Dany about their day. Lyella had practiced all her new ballet moves, Rhae had finished his letters and could now do them all without even _looking_ —whatever that was supposed to mean—while Robby was trying to show Dany the new toy that he got from Uncle Vis, and Aly just hissed, scowling at all the noise around them.

And he stood to the side, leaning against the doorframe, head lightly resting on the wall, watching as Dany listened intently to each one of her children and shushed Aly, giving every one of them the attention they needed. He loved her the most when she was happy, no matter how that was brought about. Whether it was feeling pretty in a photoshoot or running around a festival or watching a play.

He felt his phone buzz in his pocket and grabbed it, smiling at Missy’s text: _So, am I getting best friend of the year award? :P_

He texted back: _Only if I get husband of the year._

The response had his cheeks flaming in embarrassment. _You always get that one Jon, or at least, so Dany tells me._

“Daddy!”

“Yes?” he exclaimed, shoving his phone aside and shrugging of his jacket, unsure which one of the twins called for him. He threw the jacket on a chair and knelt, grabbing hold of who he imagined was Rhae, grinning and falling onto the couch besides Dany and the others. “So? What are we going to do tonight?”

“Stories!” Robby shouted.

“No! Movie!”

“I wanna’ dance!”

Aly just cried. Jon felt like he had a headache forming between his eyes. He glanced at Dany, who was smiling. He reached over and squeezed her wrist. “Actually, it’s Mummy’s day, so let’s let her decide. Well? What do you want to do?”

Dany looked at everyone, all of their violet eyes staring at her, demanding silently and quivering. She grinned, her own set of violet eyes shining. She blinked hard, forcing tears back. “Well,” she murmured. She patted Aly’s back and nuzzled Lyella’s hair. “I think we should order ice cream, get into our pajamas, and have Daddy tell us all a story.” She grinned. “How about that?”

“Yeah!” a chorus exclaimed.

He rolled his eyes; he suspected it would come down to that. He pushed the kids off, towards one of the bedrooms, where Vis had dumped their bags—gods only knew if they even had the correct amount of clothing in them—Lyella instructed to get the twins into their jammies. He left them and went to the main living area, but it was empty. Frowning, he ventured down the hall and into the master bedroom, finding Dany seated on the edge of the bed, wiping her eyes, while Aly rolled back and forth in the center of the bed, trying to get her toes.

He instantly knelt to her side. “Hey? You alright?”

Dany hiccuped, nodding quickly and shoving her Kleenex back into her eyes, wiping at them again. “Yeah, I’m fine…I didn’t realize I could be so happy.”

He smiled, reaching to squeeze her hand. His heart felt like it was going to burst into his chest. “Me too.”

She leaned down, framing his face in her hands, her hair falling in a curtain around them, blocking them off for a moment to the familial chaos around them. She kissed him lightly, whispering. “I love you Jon Snow. Whatever led me to you…to your stupid movie and all that happened after that…” She kissed him again, mumbling. “I’m so glad.”

 _Me too_ , he thought again, rising up to embrace her tightly. He pressed his cheek to the top of her head, her arms around his waist. He closed his eyes, chuckling to himself. “Remember the first time we actually met?” he murmured. It wasn’t in the coffee shop. That was the first real civil discussion they had.

“How could I forget? You pretended you didn’t know who _Jon Snow_ even was. You were such an arsehole.”

“I really was.”

“Are,” she teased. She tilted her head back and this time it was he who framed her face. She closed her eyes briefly, shaking her head again. “Thank you for my day. I really needed it, but…” She turned away and picked up Aly, who cooed, reaching for her. “But I need my babies too.”

On cue, the door burst open, the other three running in, wearing mismatched pajamas and exclaiming about how they wanted to get _all_ the ice cream in the hotel. Jon wasn’t sure that was feasible, although he did look forward to the inevitable sugar crash. He kissed her one more time, to Robby and Rhae’s disgusted looks and shout of _”gross!”_ from Lyella.

“Alright you dragonwolves,” he shouted, pushing them onto the bed. “Ice cream and then story, so think of the one you want to hear.”

Lyella clapped her hands. “How you and Mummy met!”

“Yeah!”

Dany leaned back against the headboard, cuddling the twins, while Rhae fumbled with holding Aly. “How about it Daddy? That a good one?”

He grinned, climbing up next to them all. “It’s the best one I ever wrote.”

“So tell it,” Lyella shouted, hitting him with a pillow.

He grabbed a pillow and hit her back, which prompted everyone to grab pillows and jump up and down on the bed, hitting each other and shouting until Robby took an elbow to the eye and burst into tears, delaying story time until he could get checked out.

And once everyone was settled, bound under the covers, half asleep anyway, he finally started to tell the story. “Once upon a time,” he began, his fingers dragging through Dany’s silver curls, her head on his shoulder. “There was a _beautiful_ actress named Dany…”

“And a stupid writer named Jon.”

“Who is tell the story, you or me?”

“Shush!” Lyella hissed. “Daddy tells it. Mummy, you act it. That’s how it is.”

Dany hid her smile into his shoulder. “Very well. Carry on.”

He chuckled, in spite of himself. “And this actress was the greatest in all the world…”

**fin.**


End file.
